


Southern Hospitality and Other Fatal Poisons

by KidaTheFreak



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Anal Beads, Background Character Death, Church Sex, Confessional Sex, Drowning, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Horror, Mild Gore, Mild Horror, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Priest Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Slow Burn, Smut, Sounding, Southern Gothic AU, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Idealization, Trans Eddie Brock, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Venom is a sweetheart, Venom's tongue, a lot of the tags are for future chapters, and it starts out hesitant before they REALLY get into it, just venom chompin heads yknow, off screen mostly, only because there is definitely a communication barrier starting out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-08-20 04:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidaTheFreak/pseuds/KidaTheFreak
Summary: Eddie Brock never really had the best luck.Growing up in a small Southern town in a die-hard Catholic family, breaking up with his long-term fiance Anne, moving to San Francisco only to wind up broke and struggling to pay rent, and now his father is on his death bed. Yaay.At least he and Anne and Dan are on good terms, he's going to need their support. After all, the creature living in the swamp that decided to take up residence in his body isn't something that comes with a manual.And it turns out, it wants to make Eddie it's own personal sinner (and is that really so bad?)Southern Gothic Symbrock AU





	1. in my stomach, on my heart, chainmail

**Author's Note:**

> so i managed to be convinced by the symbrock discord to take my random lil blurble about a southern gothic au and turn it into a series. we'll see if i can keep up with it.
> 
> expect a lot of kinky shit in later chapters. like, seriously, im gonna go all out.

_Blink, blink._

 

The sputtering hum of a motorcycle engine quieted, drowning under the cacophony of cicadas and crickets, and muggy summer air heavy enough to bend backs under its weight. Empty concrete warps under the hazy sunset, oil stains slick enough to reflect the face of Eddie Allan Brock Jr. as he rolled into the gas station with a sign so old, it’s letters were peeling off like snake skin.

 

_Blink. Blink, blink._

 

Dim bulbs flickered from the overhang, at once all too bright and not bright enough in the light of a sinking sun, the only other light for miles that had yet to be swallowed by the country road greenery. A rustle of brittle cash, the suffocated beeps of an aging machine followed by a sickening gurgle as Eddie filled the bike’s tank, and he leaned back onto the worn leather seat, wiping a hand down his face and rubbing his darkened eyes. A shuddering breath broke the insect orchestra, and a well-loved boot sole kicked away an empty cicada shell. He frowned.

 

A drink. There’s no road tip on the back of a motorcycle in the south that can erase the permanent thirst that comes with the heat, the feeling of choking on air both stale and too, too fresh. In most places, he knew, you never leave a vehicle unattended while pumping gas. That was an easy way to lose things, have them stolen, have them vandalized, or just royally fuck them up in general.

 

But there’s nothing in this world like southern hospitality.

 

In all honesty, Eddie thinks with a wry smile as he pushes open the mildly rusted door of the built in convenience store, bell tinkling pitifully. There’s probably some horrid curse the Lord sends onto the people of the south should they break a sacred unspoken contract about that infamous hospitality. Unless they just can’t stand the person, in which case hospitality flies out the window like a housewife tossing out the barn cat.

 

But, drinks.

 

The lights don’t blink inside the store. If anything, they seem to burn the eyeballs from the inside out. One lone boy with carrot orange hair and way too many freckles mops the floor near the back, giving Eddie a quiet nod in greeting and a pop of a blue bubble. Whatever, the dingy linoleum floor either had a vendetta to undo all of his mop work or it was just a sign that many people pass through, none staying long. Something about being the only gas station for miles usually had that effect.

 

Eddie worked his way to the coolers, skimming labels of drinks that all claimed they were local, but just screamed artificial off-brand. One row was dedicated to ‘hand-squeezed’ lemonade, and Eddie knew better than to stare too long when something purple was crusted to the side.

 

Sweet tea, sweet raspberry tea, apple cider, milk cartons that had long since passed expiration date, and three coolers devoted to beer alone.

 

Tempting, but Eddie just grabbed a water and a thankfully wrapped snickers from another aisle.

 

It’s certainly not dinner, but Eddie really hopes the promise of Anne - _sweet, loving, ex-fiance, off limits, just friends Anne_ \- cooking that meal when he finally wheels into his hometown with a dinky bike and nothing but a carry-on of essentials to his name, will motivate him enough to not dilly dally on the roads. Hunger made for good encouragement.

 

Or just agony. It all depends.

 

Eddie lets carrot-top ring his items up at the cash register buried under years-old pamphlets for local concerts or pig wrangling, or whatever they advertised. He looks bored enough to have possibly read every single one of them, maybe even memorized them and all the packaging on the cigarette labels behind the counter, too. Eddie can’t help but wonder if working in gas station convenience stores is the equivalent of purgatory, that eternal waiting list that you probably died in, and he clears his throat as he takes his purchases.

 

“Ah, bathroom?”

 

Because of course, it must be law or something to buy before the good Southerners let you use a public bathroom.

 

The kid hands him something reminiscent of an obnoxious middle school bathroom pass with a dented keyring on it, and Eddie could make out bored scratches of crude language from bathroom-goers past, and that one squiggle was probably a penis. Really poorly drawn, but a penis nonetheless.

 

The stall was worse. Eddie didn’t stick around to enjoy the view.

 

Instead, he rinsed his hands under tepid water that seemed just a bit too brown, just a bit too pungent, and he distantly hoped the toilet water didn’t just recycle into the sink. He tried not to look down, instead focusing on mirrored eyes rimmed with dark circles and five o’clock shadow that was starting to itch. And sweat like only the south can coax out. He let a tiny sliver of exhaustion creep into his shoulders like the spiderweb cracks in the corner of the mirror, resting his forehead against the cool glass.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he idly considered just ignoring it, leaving this too bright in all the wrong ways gas station, and driving his bike all the way back to San Fran.

 

At least back there, there was a nice big bridge, just a short drive away.

 

No, stop, he was trying to do better. Bad brain. Eddie shook his head to dislodge that train of thought, unlocking his phone with a touch of a button and scrolling through his messages until his thumb hovered weakly over Anne’s name, lit up with a blue notification.

 

Eddie stared blankly, flipped to his GPS, flipped back, and tapped out a quick response on dull-numb-stiff-cold fingers.

 

 

That’d do it.

 

He shoves his phone and the Snickers bar back into his jacket pocket, returns the key to the bathroom of hell, and leaves with the pathetic jingle.

 

_Blink._

 

His bike was just as he left it, though to his sore eyes it started to look rusted already, surrounded by the corpses of summer bugs and concrete gum and dusty gas pumps. Whatever, at least he had a full tank, bought on his dwindling checking account and thankfully the pump had had a proper automatic shut off. He fastened his helmet, replaced the nozzle and kicked off, zipping down the precariously thin and cracked and empty road.

 

 _Blink blink blink blink blink_.

 

He pretended not to notice the lights flicker every time he passed under one.

  
  
  


 

* * *

 

A week ago, Eddie could almost feel a migraine forming between his eyes as he read the message glaring up at him from his phone. His grandmother had cut off contact long ago, when he refused to keep pretending he was a girl. As though he had become like a limb infested and decaying, and needed to be severed to save the whole.

 

So to see his granny reaching out was… surprising, to say the least.

 

He rubbed his eyes, setting the phone down on the kitchen counter with a tired sigh. _Hey_ , his brain supplied. _Maybe it really is important, and you’d live your life regretting never calling her back_ ! An even tinier hope swelled in his chest, _maybe she wants to apologize, maybe I can have my granny back!_

 

He scraped a pancake from the old pan on the old stove, turning it over thoughtfully. The more rational part of himself, or at the very least the skeptic in him, was screaming not to answer, that she only called for a selfish reason.

 

After all, she certainly hadn’t held back from telling him all the ways he’d be to hell.

 

He turned down the flame, shaking the crispy pancake onto his plate and dousing it in syrup. Whatever, breakfast first. Then he’d call.

 

He tried not to feel like he was chewing sawdust and ignored the barbed-wire feeling in his throat.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Your father is dying.”_

 

Oh.

 

_“Alice?”_

 

Eddie stayed quiet a moment, wrestling his guts to keep them from strangling each other. He took a deep breath, bringing the phone back up to his ear.

 

“Yes, uh, gr- er, Daisy. Ma’am.”

 

Granny Dee - _Daisy_ , he corrected himself; she wasn’t his granny anymore - made a tiny noise over the line, and Eddie almost heard undertones of… disgust?

 

_“He’s having a harder and harder time breathing. The doctors say there’s not much left we can do. You… you should be here.”_

 

The AC unit stuttered quietly, the only noise breaking the silence. For a moment, it was like Eddie’s shitty San Fran apartment and granny’s tiny rotting cottage themselves were holding their breath, and Eddie slowly leaned against the fridge, sinking to sit on the floor.

 

Eddie broke the stillness with a bone-deep sigh.

 

“He never should have kept smoking. An entire fucking pack a day, like it was fucking candy. Even when every goddamned person with common fucking sense told him he needed to stop smoking, what does he do? He goes and just makes his lung cancer worse.”

 

_“Ali-”_

 

“Fuck!”

 

Eddie could hear his grandmother jump in her seat from across the phone line, and whatever tirade she had been about to go on involving his dead name and about taking the name of the Lord in vain, she was halted.

 

“Just… fine. Fuck, fine, I’ll come down. Just… just for a week. I’m not spending any more time down in that shithole.”

 

Silence.

 

_“...I have a spare bedroom, Alice.”_

 

Eddie sighed, wiping his eyes in hopes that he hadn’t kickstarted the waterworks.

 

“No, I have friends still there, if I’m going to go, I’m staying with them, or someone can buy me a hotel.”

 

_“Ah, Anne and Dan?”_

 

He grunted. “Yeah. Look, I’ll let you know when I get in.”

 

_“O-oh, bye Ali-”_

 

_Click._

 

_Plip._

 

...He wasn’t crying. He refused.

 

_Plip plip._

 

It was just sweat.

 

_Plip._

 

...He needed to call Anne.

 

* * *

 


	2. to compensate warmth and love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nettles and static raced beneath Eddie’s skin, a prickly blanket of wrong-strange-run pressing down on his shoulders and sapping the warmth from his body. A kind of chill that no leather jacket or furnace-warm engine could kill. The sun dipped below the tree line and stole the last of the heat from the creaking town buried in the forest, and all he could do was watch the black colors swirl before the night swept the lake under its skirts too.
> 
> Don’t look back, Eddie urged himself, kicking his bike back into motion. The lake was toxic, was sick. Poisoned.
> 
> Fitting for the town that sapped his spirit as he grew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, ENORMOUS thanks to the symbrock squad discord for helping me work out my image problems. first chapter should be fixed in case the pics didnt work when you read it. second.... yeah, i write really slow. updates are not gonna be fast with my lazy ass. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy!

 

Eddie knew he was only minutes out from his small hometown when the aged billboards morphed from church advertisements to messages that simply proclaimed HELL IS REAL with all the deathly conviction the townspeople held, and hot sticky pavement scent was suffocated under creeping vines of roadside honeysuckle. The road twisted and wound around fields and trees with seemingly no reason why it couldn’t have cut straight through, and Eddie would have thought himself to be lost on a backwoods road to hell if not for the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of his guts as he drew closer to the town.

 

On second thought, hell aptly describes his birth town.

 

He shrugged the feeling to the dusty crowded basement of his brain labeled “shit not to think too deeply about” as he drove through an overhang of trees that had formed a natural canopy over the road, branches tangled and grasping each other and covered in a thick coat of greenery to blot out the last rays of the setting sun. Eddie presses his lips into a firm line, foot hesitant on the gas as he was rattled over cheaply filled potholes and aged cracks no amount of taxpayer dollars would ever be used to fix. Still, despite the rattling in his jaw, Eddie’s mind was elsewhere.

 

Why him?

 

Okay, granted, that was the roughest summarization he could possibly use to question his fucked up excuse for, well, everything. The real pressing questions were much more… more. Why’d he have to grow up with a fuckwad of a deadbeat dad and have to drive across the country to watch him die and feel like crap despite the shitty lack of positive memories? Why couldn’t his grandmother just forget him, fuck, it wasn’t like she even really acknowledged him as a person anyway, was it? Why’d he have to have something good going with Anne all those years ago only for the shit people said to start getting to her and ruining the one good thing Eddie had going for him and leave him still relying on her like he was a parasite? Why why why why wh-

 

_ Crack _ !

 

A low hanging crooked branch that stuck out just a smidge too far over the road smacked Eddie’s helmet and grazed his cheek and he swore, nearly jerking his bike in surprise as wetness and coppersmell made themselves apparent. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and his answerless questions, stifling the frustration from his distracted driving. Damn it, that stung.

 

Blood went ignored briefly as he turned down the side street to the town, little buildings of brick and wood and old siding appearing amongst the too-thick trees that sheltered the locals from the dying sun. Eddie blinked, wiped his cheek with a ratty sweater sleeve that peeked out from under his leather jacket, adding to the stains that told of hurt and exhaustion and a lost will. He didn’t look down longer than necessary, turning his eyes back to the neighborhood that was creeping up fast.

 

Eddie felt a tiny thump in his chest.

 

The lake was black. 

 

The bike slowed, almost wobbled as Eddie looked at the sliver of lake he could see between the trees, wracking his brain and wondering if it was a trick of the fading light or if it had always been black.

 

His grandmother and the other guardians of the town had told all of the youth to stay away from the lakes that dotted the home where they were raised. That lake in particular, the old ladies whispering about the bottom filled with quicksand and broken bottles and fish that had no fear of snapping little girl ankles while their husbands scoffed at the tall tales.

 

Funny, as far as Eddie could remember, the old grandfathers never went near the lake either, for all their scorn of old wives tales.

 

The way rainbow oozed through the water, it was likely an oil leak that turned it darker than pitch. At least, that’s the only idea Eddie could think of.

 

He barely registered having stopped the motorcycle, only jerking back into focus by a drip from the cut on his cheek that threatened to run over onto the pavement, onto his bike. Eddie set his feet on either side, breathing in breathing out.

 

The black water was too, too still.

 

Nettles and static raced beneath Eddie’s skin, a prickly blanket of  _ wrong-strange-run  _ pressing down on his shoulders and sapping the warmth from his body. A kind of chill that no leather jacket or furnace-warm engine could kill. The sun dipped below the tree line and stole the last of the heat from the creaking town buried in the forest, and all he could do was watch the black colors swirl before the night swept the lake under its skirts too.

 

_ Don’t look back _ , Eddie urged himself, kicking his bike back into motion. The lake was toxic, was sick. Poisoned.

 

Fitting for the town that sapped his spirit as he grew.

 

Eddie tried not to look back. Tried.

* * *

 

 

The bike died under the drowning scream of the peeptoads as Eddie pulled into the driveway of Anne’s cozy white-sided house that seemed younger than its neighbors, more untouched by the hungry green growth. Rot had yet left the whiteness untouched, picket fence barely even making a sigh as Eddie lifted the latch into the front garden.

 

Anne has never been much of a gardener, so what plants did grow almost seemed to be born from a miracle that breathes life into the vibrant leaves and flowers. Likely only sheer luck kept them from wilting.

 

Dan probably wasn’t much of a gardener either, thinking about it.

 

The doorbell hummed a tune slightly off-key, the dimming light illuminating it giving a flicker under the porch lamp. Eddie put a hand in his pocket, the other holding his travel bag strap, and turned to face out towards the dark street. Somewhere in a neighboring yard, a clatter of a plastic bin betrayed the scavenging of a raccoon or squirrel. Something canine howled.

 

Eddie twitched when the sound of the door creaking open behind him stifled the sounds of summer night, turning to face Anne leaning on the frame. She pulled a gray sweater around her, the ashen yarn echoing the color of the rings around her eyes.

 

She must have been working late on a case.

 

Eddie refused to believe she might be worried about him.

 

She opened her mouth at the same time he opened his, a jaw snapped shut, another moving wordlessly and hesitantly. The canine creature in the distance broke off its howl, dissolving into a yelp. A moment of unspoken words stretched into the night, the cicadas a deafening drown.

 

Finally, the stillness shattered, Anne resting her head against the door frame with a bone deep sigh.

 

“Hey.”

 

Eddie shuffled, putting his hands in his pockets as he scuffed at the dirt with his dusty boot.

 

“Uh, hey, Anne. It’s, ah…”

 

Eddie trailed off, screaming bugs filling his ears and filling his throat and contracting his lungs and oh, wait, that was just him. He swallowed past the sticky sludge feeling in his esophagus, only for Anne to cut in.

 

“Just… come in, Eddie.”

 

And suddenly he was in her house, what used to be their house, a sickening familiarity in the white-painted dark-paneled walls and the wood boards that jutted up ever so slightly next to the door. The woven mat at the doorway was new, as was the wicker furniture- Dan’s choice, maybe. It helped him forget for the barest of seconds that he had a life here, once, could have built something that wasn’t just his father’s expectation of becoming Alice in a cabin in this backwoods town, going to church every Sunday and settling down with a real man that would give her squabbling, screaming babies and watch her cook while he sat on his ass drinking beer.

 

Okay, no, focus on something else, anything else.

 

The uh, the kitchen was redone. He stared at the ceramic tiling as Anne dragged him by the hand, the dinky old fridge still in place and sticking out like a sore thumb. The air smelled of spices and lavender, towels fluffier than Eddie had ever seen in his life. It was… an odd hybrid of quaint and modern, familiar and new, comforting and suffocating.

 

Dan was at the sink, washing his hands and looking like an absolute goddamn gentleman. A cross hung above him, and Eddie distantly wondered if Anne’s mother sunk her religious talons further into her or if it was Dan’s doing.

 

A smile, a “Hey, Eddie, good to see you”, and Eddie was painfully aware of how nice and kind Dan was, he could feel it in the way his ribs constricted and his heart hurt and the urge to fall to his knees and ask Dan to forgive him his sins. A man, a real man, that could provide where Eddie could not.

 

And yet, for all that Dan was so… radiant and caring and benevolent and everything Eddie never had, could never hope to be, Eddie couldn’t bring himself to hate him. It just turned inwards which… was not much better, in all truthfulness.

 

Eddie tried not to wince as he felt the knife twist in the wound of self image, Dan guiding him to the kitchen table with a hand that spoke of strength in gentleness.

 

More wicker in the chairs, a wrought iron and glass table. The glass was clear enough that Eddie could see his reflection in it, and a reflection of pity coming from Anne’s tired eyes. He struggled not to let his head fall onto the table. The oil marks wouldn’t be pleasant.

 

Dan set down a plate in front of him, neatly between the utensils, and then another two plates on either side.

 

“I hope you don’t mind chicken casserole and green beans.”

 

Eddie’s stomach roared for it as Dan piled on the beans, steaming and covered in some kind of cooking oil, and Anne passed him a bread basket.

 

He had to admit, for all the hell he got growing up in his southern town, he did miss the food.

 

They sat down on either side of him, their presence as suffocating as it was needed. Dan reached across the table for Anne’s hand, as both reached for either of Eddie’s hands.

 

Oh, right. Grace.

 

Eddie guiltily put down the bread roll he nearly stuffed down his gullet, taking either of their (soft, warm, forgiving) hands with his clammy ones.

 

Dan led the prayer, because of course he did.

 

“Dear Lord, thank You for these gifts we are about to receive and for Your bountiful blessings. May Your grace find us even in the darkest of paths, Amen.”

 

Eddie swallowed past the ooze in his throat, hands twitching away the moment prayer broke. Anne looked at him with concern, and Dan, the absolute saint, didn’t stutter or fix Eddie with that disapproving stare when the feeling of being bound into a contract with a faceless almighty entity was too much, when he had to step away from grace, tell himself he didn’t just sell his soul.

 

Silence weighed heavy on his shoulders, broken only by the clinking of silverware on ceramic. Anne casting glances at Eddie when she thought he wouldn’t notice, Dan focused on pushing a loose bean around the plate.

 

In the end, when it became apparent Eddie was more interested in plucking apart his casserole than talking, Anne took the initiative.

 

“What are you going to do about… you know.”

 

Eddie’s fork stilled, the casserole falling off the prongs.

 

_ “Your father,”  _ left unspoken. A taboo.

 

It felt like a mute button descended on the dining room, utensils frozen in place, Eddie’s lips barely parted, Dan somehow miraculously chewing without a sound as he looked at Eddie with, what, worry?

 

He cleared his throat. It sounded worse than a bad truck engine.

 

“I’m… here, aren’t I?” The beans were cold now. “I mean, what am I supposed to do, cure cancer overnight?”

 

Anne blinked, mouth opening then closing wordlessly.

 

“Eddie, I didn’t mean…”

 

He winced. Oops.

 

“Sorry. I… sorry. I’m not thrilled. Can we just… talk about this another time? I don’t really know much of anything right now.”

 

Distantly, he wondered if something in his voice shook, or his eyes betrayed some deep hurt he had shoved as far down as he could until he could pretend it didn’t hurt, because Anne rested her hand over his with a raw tenderness that nearly dragged all the dirty laundry to the surface.

 

“You can’t live alone in your own head forever, Eddie.” she murmured, but withdrew, for the time being deciding to be the one that gives.

 

A throat clear, Dan offering a welcome change of subject.

 

“So, ah, recent events notwithstanding, what have you been up to, Eddie?”

 

Some of Eddie’s pent up tension melted away, and he rambled about the articles he wrote, the things he’s seen in SanFran, the weather, anything. Dan indulged him, giving little nods and “mhms” and tossing in questions, and Anne… well, Anne watched him like a hawk. Eddie pretended it didn’t make his hair stand on end or leave him feeling trapped with a ticking time bomb. Things were quiet, peaceful, a lot left unsaid but it was okay. Small towns were good for burying rotten history.

 

* * *

  
  


Anne took him to the spare room after dinner, Eddie’s single travel trunk thunking up the steps behind them. She kept casting secret worried glances and he kept pretending he didn’t notice, even as she pushed open the door and set his trunk at the foot of the queen bed.

 

It reminded Eddie of his grandmother’s house, the room all bathed in neutral colors and thick, unused sheets covering them bed. Photographs of old dead people hung from the walls, watched over by a single Jesus, hanging from his cross over the bed.

 

Eddie hated this room.

 

Hated it since he first tried to start a life with Anne, hated it in the photos that were still on his phone. It was too pure, too pristine. The Jesus was new.

 

Faking a smile was getting easier, if not better.

 

“Thanks, Anne. For letting me stay.”

 

She shook her head, leaned against the doorframe again, neither in the hall nor the room.

 

“Don’t mention it. You’re… still our friend, despite everything. And we’re here if you need us.”

 

He looked away from her, awkward, not wanting to look her in the eye and hate what he sees; that pity, regret. Looking a mistake in the eye.

 

The pause seemed infinitely louder with the crickets and cicadas making their cacophonous racket just outside, and Anne cleared her throat before speaking again.

 

“You should, shower. Probably. I imagine you’re tired.” She inspected the knots in the wood. “There are spare towels in the guest bathroom.”

 

Eyes flickered to the floor, forced themselves up, looked only briefly at Anne. He swiped his tongue on the inside of his cheek.

 

“Right. I’ll let you get back to Dan. You’re probably tired.”

 

She nodded, a little too fast, a little to eager.

 

“Right. Okay. We’ll see you in the morning, then.”

 

He waited till she shut the door, footsteps light as she moved down the hall to the warm bed she shared with sweet Dan.

 

It was just Eddie and Jesus and the old dead people now.

 

His breath left him in a rush as he allowed himself to fall backwards on the bed, an itching under his skin. The sheets only seemed to magnify the drag of fibers and the shivers creeping down his spine, night music all but deafening him.

 

His hand crept into his boxers before he knew it. 

 

The hum that left his throat seemed to echo through him down to his fingertips as they traced over heated flesh, his eyes shut between exhaustion and lazy pleasure. He moved over the line of folds without a goal in mind, too blissed by warm, soft, far from threadbare fabric.

 

Huh, he must really be having a rough time if a nice bed is enough to get him worked up. Eddie almost snorted in bitter amusement as his rough fingertips traced the erect bud of flesh at the top of his sex. A light arch of the back, a rustle of sheets, and his eyes fluttered open.

 

Jesus just kept watching. Eddie frowned, breath catching up to him before he rolled of the bed, the eyes of the portraits watching him as he took a walk of shame to the bathroom, slick dripping down his thighs.

 

He was not going to get off while the Lord and His Son and Anne’s ancestors watched with eyes that screamed “Pervert! Sinner!”

 

* * *

  
  


The bathroom shared the same pristine feeling the spare bedroom did, but it was absent of ancient photographs and detailed Christian sculpture. Maybe it was just because Eddie’s hand was back to circling his clit the moment he slid the lock in place, but he felt immediately sheltered, like the white painted door would keep the ghosts from knowing that he took his pleasure. 

 

The same restless buzzing guided his right hand to turn the dials on the tub, test the water, plug the drain, all while his left got busy dipping between folds.

 

He stripped as the water rose, steam floating from its surface. Each shift of fabric across his skin seemed to drag the pulse of his cunt with it, a throb never ceasing.

 

Eddie was two fingers deep as he sunk into the warmth, faucets shut, his other hand pressed to his lips to keep his secret sin from being voiced. He bit gently into the meat of his palm as he thrusted in, out, in, out, legs splayed wide. Tile cooled his head, warm water sloshing over his ribs tickled him in all the right ways, and his thumb worked his engorged clit with a slow, circular frenzy.

 

He shut his eyes tight, fought against the cramping of his hand as he chased his orgasm. “Please, please, pleas-“

 

His whole body tensed, cunt clamping down on his fingers as he fought to hold back his squeal and his orgasm crashed over him, echoing through his body. It felt like a choir had reached the grand finale the way his nerves sang. 

 

A distant part of him hoped he would melt into the bathwater, know nothing but that fluid, floaty feeling forever.

 

But in the end, he had to come down eventually. He sighed, breathless as he withdrew his fingers, too tired to chase the barest whispers of a second orgasm. He let his head fall back against the tile, stared with tired eyes as water swirled around his knees. His hand ached with cramps.

 

He sat there until the water gained a distinct chill and his bones felt numb, then carefully scrubbed the grime from his skin, body going through the motions while his brain was floating in molasses. Dried himself half-assedly, returned to the bed and flicked off the lamp.

 

He rolled over onto his back, the faint outline of Jesus on his cross visible even in the dark.

 

Eddie gave a middle finger, the gesture laced with years worth of hate and guilt, before letting sleep take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> depressed and full of self-loathing and religious guilt? have a sad bathtub bean wanking session.
> 
> chapter titles are actually lyrics from songs on my inspo playlist. first chapter was alt j - hunger of the pine. this one is blackbriar - stone cold body. the tune doesnt necessarily fit, but they still gave me inspiration.


End file.
